


The Losers Are Talking- Fill in the Gaps

by doodle_writes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Neglect, Drug Use, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, IT AU, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, Requited Love, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24637276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodle_writes/pseuds/doodle_writes
Summary: I run @thelosersaretalking on Tumblr! It's a losers ask blog and this is essentially stating what happens on the blog, but more detailed so the audience knows what's up.Some of these will be stories from when they were kids and others are adulthood. They'll be marked accordingly.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a big ship piece like this so I hope you enjoy!

#  Holding It In 

###  A Teen Stenbrough Fic 

**Warnings:** Neglect, Abuse, Homophobic, Alcohol, Blood, Pre-established Death of a Family Member  
**Word Count:** 4,293  
**Summary:** How Stan and Bill confessed to each other at the sweet age of 17.

* * *

Over the past few months, especially in the prior weeks, Bill had been in a slump that he was determined not to express to the other losers. He thought of himself as a leader to them, even nearly four or five years after the incident. He wouldn't allow them to see that he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. No- he'd much rather have his inevitable episode in the comfort of his own bed at some obscene hour of the day where no one but him and maybe God (though he had his doubts that such a thing existed) could see. 

He parked his car and reached to the passenger side to grab his backpack before hitting the garage remote for the door to open. He climbed out and threw the bag over his shoulders before entering through the garage. He walked past Silver without a second thought and began to make his way into the house, but he paused. He looked back over his shoulder and back at the bike. He hadn't rode it much since he got a car. After all it was easier to pack the others into his station wagon than everyone bike over to Mike's farm. He sighed and pushed the hair off of his face. It would've been easier if they were all 14 again. 

He half considered mounting silver and riding down the block just for fun, but instead he continued into the house. He breezed through the fairly empty kitchen and past the piano. He paused again. Years ago his mother was a private music tutor and the chords would echo around the admittedly large house and Bill would have to tell Georgie, who only wanted to play tag or wrestle, to quiet down. 

He swallowed hard. In recent years it had become significantly harder to recall what Georgie's laugh even sounded like. He sharply inhaled through his nose. He rocked on his heels for a moment, Converse quietly squeaking against the hardwood floor. After a moment, he dropped his backpack next to the piano and sat down on the bench. Even through his jeans the bench felt ice cold. He looked at the keys. He was used to playing Stan's piano, but his own was dusty from the lack of use. Carefully, he ran his finger tips across the keys before hastily wiping them on the side of his jeans. 

He then placed his hands and closed his eyes, thinking of a piece his mother always taught students but he never could remember the name of. Muscle memory overtook him as notes began to echo through the downstairs area and he smiled to himself, remembering when he first learnt the song and how Georgie was only three years old, wobbly running around while their mother fretted over whether or not he'd bump his head. 

As Bill was in his deepest daydream, a hand dug into his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he jumped, but the harsh grip kept him glued to the seat.

"Just what in the hell are you doing?"

Bill looked over to see his father's face. In just a matter of a few years, wrinkles and eye bags had taken over Zack Denbrough. His hair was more gray than blonde and his eyes had grown to match. For a while in the timeline of their lives, Bill and Zack didn't speak at all. In the past two years or so, that had changed but the conversations were typically aggressive and left a bad taste in Bill's mouth. He had a feeling their conversation would end no differently. 

"I'm p-puh-laying p-"

"I can see that." He deadpanned, grip not lightening. "Why? You know your mother is resting."

Bill grabbed his father's wrist and forcefully removed his hand. "She's b-been 'resting' for three years!" He wanted to shut up, to just march to his room and quietly despair into the night, but his words were in motion and there was no stopping it. "When will she b-b-be done? I want my mom back!"

Bill looked up at his father, fists clenched, face flushed, chest heaving from his outburst. Zack looked taken back and pointed his finger in Bill's face. "You don't think she misses her son?"

Bill stood, wanting nothing more than to kick or scream or cry like a small child's tantrum. "She still has me!"

In an instant the piano bench was knocked over and Bill had his backpack over his shoulder, not noticing that his pocket sized leather journal had flung out of it in the process, and ran up the stairs. He made it into his room and slammed the door behind him, locking it, before he threw his backpack at the vanity in the corner, hearing the glass break. He felt tense in every fucking definition and collapsed into bed. His outburst barely held a fraction of relief for him. In fact, it nearly worried him more because he knew what his dad was like when angry. Bill's dad once took away his dinner just for bringing up Georgie's name. 

He stretched out on his bed, feet hanging over the edge since he never got a new bed and he was a good 6 inches taller than three or four years ago. His bed spread smelled faintly of laundry detergent and his own cologne, but nothing that brought him comfort. 

He lazily turned his head to the side and noticed a clutter of picture frames on his nightstand. He carefully reached over and pulled out one from right before Georgie died. It was of the original 4 sitting on a park bench. It was slightly blurry since Georgie himself had an unsteady tiny hand that took the picture. Richie was making a dumb face per usual, Eddie pouting, and in the center was Bill sitting on Stan's lap, Stan's arms wrapped around him. He remembered how nervous he was to take that picture. 

As he got lost in his thoughts, a pounding began on the door. Bill, startled, dropped the picture and it hit the nightstand corner on the way down. He cursed as he heard the glass break and his father's voice protrude through the door. 

Hesitantly, he stood and drew in a deep breath. He calmly walked over and opened the door but as soon as he did, he was shoved to the ground. It knocked the wind out of him with a wheeze as he looked up to see his father. His eyes widened in trepipity as his eyes landed on what his father was holding: his journal. Even worse, it was opened up to a very recent entry about Bill's feelings for Stan. It was plain as day, and the drawing of Stan on the left page, as Bill was predominantly left handed, made it even more so obvious. 

Bill wanted to open his mouth and try to smooth out the explanation but there was no lie that could cover his tracks. There it was in paper and ink that Bill had a dirty little secret. 

Zack ripped the pages from Bill's journal and let them flutter to the ground in a picturesque affliction. He screamed at Bill while all of Bill's thoughts and feelings and memories on nearly two years were destroyed before his very eyes. 

Bill didn't realize he was moving but he was back on his feet and tore the journal away from his father before mustering all of his might and shoved Zack out of the room. Before he could draw in a breath, Bill pulled the door shut and locked both locks. 

With the adrenaline and cortisol fading, Bill fell to his knees and shoved his the base of palms into his eyes. He couldn't break down now. He needed to pack his bag and get out for the night. Meticulously but quickly, he tried to arrange the journal pages in the right order but it was by no means perfect. 

He turned on his radio to try and make his dad believe he was just lying in bed rather than packing his bags to escape to a place he wasn't sure of yet. He grabbed his backpack, careful not to touch the mirror shards, before grabbing some clothes and shoving them inside. He already had his wallet and a small amount of cash saved up in case he needed to get a motel for the night. He also had a fake ID, he had used it for liquor a few times, just in case he wasn't old enough to rent out a motel room. He wasn't sure how old you had to be for that. 

He paused and took a breath. He decided to grab another notebook, a sketchbook, and some spare pencils. They weren't necessities by any means but maybe they'd help him relax. He walked to his closet to grab a hoodie, which he exchanged for his baseball tee, and threw his backpack over his shoulder. 

He started walking to the window, but had two final thoughts. He crept back to the door and unlocked it. If his dad came back, he wanted his dad to see that he was gone. And then the pictures on his nighstand. He shoved all of them into his backpack before looking down at the one that broke earlier. 

He knelt down and attempted to move the broken glass aside but cursed as he slit his thumb on a shard. With his other hand he successfully pulled out the photo. He slid it into his back pocket before flipping the hood over his head and he silently opened the window just enough to slide through. 

He carefully shimmed his way through and sat on the shingles. He carefully scooted towards the tree near his window, careful not to snag his jeans on any nails. Once there he carefully reached his leg out and placed one of his feet in a spot where different branches well... branched out. He made sure he had a tight grip before moving his second foot onto a lower intersection of the tree. It was much harder considering it was getting dark outside and he had to feel around with his foot for a place to step. 

Once he was only eight feet or so from the ground, he hang dropped. He landed with a small thud and shook his hand out, sore from gripping the bark for dear life. Carefully, he ducked into the garage and felt around in the dark until he found Silver. 

He wrapped his hands around the handlebars and slowly dragged her from the garage. Her back tire was a little flat but it would have to do. He glanced upstairs to see all the lights turned off. He looked at the downstairs and through the curtains he could see the faint glow of the lamp next to his father's recliner. 

Thank goodness Bill decided not to take the car. Not only was it recognizable by the odd shade of blue, but the wood paneling on the side gave it away as well. Bill drew in a breath, the fall air sending chills along his neck, and mounted his bike. 

It wobbled slightly at first from the back tire being in a less than favorable state, but halfway down the street he gained hold of it. The bounce that came every time the wheel spun wasn't exactly ideal but Bill didn't sit on the banana seat anyhow. He stood while he pedaled, putting all his strength into it so that he could go faster than some cars. 

Bill decided that he would bike a few towns over for a motel. It would maybe take half an hour and he was okay with that. So, he rode without thought, confident that he would end where he wanted. Instead, he focused on the stars and how the cool air hugged him better than his own father. 

For the first time in a while, he felt good. He said what he wanted to, he shoved his father back, and he left his house, uncertain of whether or not he would hear back. For once, he welcomed the uncertainty. 

Yet those thoughts faded as he found himself in a familiar area that was the opposite direction than where he originally intended. He stopped his bike in front of the towering Uris household- a spot where many memories had been made with the losers club over the years. While Donald was by no means the biggest fan of having the whole group over, Andrea Uris was very hospitable and welcoming of the group. She had even taught them a few curses in Italian, which Stan had complained about before because he preferred making fun of Richie without Richie knowing what he meant. Thankfully, Richie didn't pick up on any of it. 

Bill wondered for a moment. Why did he ride there? Should he be there or should he turn around and go straight to Castle Rock for the night? He looked down at his wrist and moved his sleeve up to see his watch. It was already ten fifteen. By the time he would get to the motel and check in, it would be nearly eleven. 

He sighed to himself and looked back up at the house. He carefully pulled into the driveway and parked his bike next to their garage before he snuck around back. It was too late to go to the door and he had snuck into Stan's window once or twice. Why not make it a second or a third?

Bill hopped the back fence with fairly little trouble and made his way over to the lattice leading up to Stan's shared balcony with his parents. He had to be careful not to wake up the parents. 

Bill carefully climbed up, his foot slipping from the lattice a few times because the gaps were too small for him to get proper footing. 

Once he made it to the railing of the balcony, he sat on it and grabbed some berries from a tree next to him. He carefully threw one at the glass door. He waited for a moment and there was nothing- the door's curtain remained stagnant and so did the door itself.

He silently started to question whether or not coming there was a good idea. Yet against his better judgment, he threw another berry at the door. 

Nothing happened and just as he raised his arm to throw a third, it opened, light leaking out onto the balcony. 

Bill felt all words and explanations clog up in his throat like a bad pipe. Stan, who was dressed in one of Bill's t-shirts that had disappeared a while back and a pair of sweats, opened the door. His hair was slightly ruffled from his pillow, but it still shone like gold. 

He jumped slightly at seeing a lanky figure sitting on his balcony but breathed a sigh of relief as he realized it was Bill. The back of his mind bubbled with confusion but he simply crossed his arms below his chest and looked at the redhead. "Bill," he matter-of-factly hummed. 

"H-hey," Bill sheepishly waved. 

Stan's lips quirked up slightly upon seeing Bill's lightly blushing face and he turned around and walked back in silently. 

Bill knew well that Stan's silence was an invitation inside. Bill carefully slid off of the railing and onto the wood of the balcony before taking a couple long strides inside. 

Stan shut the balcony door behind him, locking it, and sat on the bed without a moment to spare. "You know the deal, shoes by the door then come sit."

Bill nodded and kicked off his Converse by the door, revealing mix match socks which Stan only rolled his eyes at. 

He then came and sat on the bed, the opposite end as Stan, and hummed quietly. "So..."

Yet Stan beat him to it. He slid over to Bill's side and took Bill's hand into his own. "What'd you do to your hand?"

Bill looked down at Stan, smiling small, solemnly. "I cut it. I d-dropped a p-puh-icture f-frame and tried to clean it up." He stammered over his words slightly. Lately, his stutter was better, but the main exceptions were with his dad and being alone with Stan. The nerves made his speech patterns more unstable. 

Stan scoffed slightly, but in a harmless manner. He reached into his nightstand, where Bill spotted lotion but immediately looked away so his face wouldn't go red. He instead busied himself by taking in the details of Stan's room most likely for the twelfth time. The walls were painted a serene light blue, so light they were almost white but still held a welcoming air. He had bookshelves organized by scripture, school, educational, texts and fiction. His dresser was a deep, warm brown and Bill could imagine everything inside folded to perfection. 

Above Stan's headboard was a cork board with various photos and notes that his friends had written him over the years. Bill noticed that there's more notes from him than anyone else. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or proud by the fact.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sting on his thumb. He winced slightly and looked down to see Stan with a lap filled with first-aid supplies. Stan was also cleaning his cut with an alcohol soaked q-tip.

Stan looked up at Bill with slightly dilated green eyes. "Sorry, should've warned you."

"No it's f-fine," Bill mumbled, taking in Stan's details from the light in the room. The way the light cast on his eyes and made them glow to how his cupids bow was naturally highlighted or the light blush on the tips of his cheekbones all took Bill's breath away. 

He looked away once again. He was in no state to think about that stuff. 

Stan noticed Bill's inability to sustain eye contact and found it suspicious but he figured he would wait until after Bill was bandaged to begin any such conversation. 

Stan pulled a bandaid from his tin, he was running low so all he had were rainbow colored ones, which was ironic on some level. He gently wrapped it around Bill's thumb and began to put the first-aid devices away. 

Once done, he sat up straight and looked at Bill curiously. 

"You know I never mind a visit with a friend, but when you sneak through my window after ten o'clock on a school night, it gives me the suspicion that something isn't okay."

Bill smiled for a moment, but the grin faded and he took his hood off. "I'm... not okay."

Stan moved to the side slightly so Bill had room next to him against the headboard. Bill did so and leaned his head against it. Stan looked up at him for a moment, admiring the sad beauty of William Denbrough. Bill had always been handsome. Even when he was young, mothers would always comment on what a handsome young man he was. At sixteen people at school stopped making fun of his ginger hair but instead oogled at him for his sharp jaw, full lips, and brilliant blue eyes. Yet for years Stan had witnessed the sadness that lingered in his face. Bill smiled a lot, but they were small smiles that only lasted for moments. He laughed, but not nearly as much as the others. And Stan could always see in Bill's eyes that his mind was in multiple places at one time. Stan noted the glazed, far-off look in Bill's eyes even more than usual. 

He carefully slid his hand over Bill's and squeezed lightly. "You can tell me anything, Billy."

That's all it took for that façade that Bill built up to crumble. Bill covered his eyes with his hands as they flowed, thick, hot tears sliding down his face. He struggled to catch his breath and sniffle so he wouldn't start draining snot all over his face. 

Stan wore a face of genuine concern as he reached behind Bill to gently rub his back. He leaned his head against Bill's shoulder. "It's okay," he whispered, "let it out. I'm here for you like you've always been for me. You wanna try breathing with me?"

Bill nodded, unable to speak through the sobs wracking his body. 

"Okay. I want you to breathe in for one, two, three, four. Now hold for one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three, and four. Hold, one, two, three, four."

Stan calmly walked him through the process a few times over until Bill was stable enough to speak. 

"Now, tell me what's wrong and if it's because of someone I'll kick their ass." Stan chuckled quietly and looked at Bill. 

Bill sniffled and smiled small to himself. "It's a lot."

"Well I'm ready to listen as long as you need me to."

Bill hesitated for a moment. Would it be too much if he asked to rest his head on Stan's lap? He had done it before but not while in such a fragile state. But, he considered, any time Stan played with his hair it helped calm him down. 

Bill glanced at him. "Would you mind playing with my hair? I think that'll keep me slightly more stable."

Stan was slightly taken aback by it but simply crossed his legs and put a pillow in his lap. Bill slowly laid back and giggled sheepishly when he looked up to see Stan's eyes peering down at him. 

Stan smiled as his hand slid through Bill's locks. 

Bill finally properly began to explain what was up. 

"I m-miss how things used to be. I miss having G-Georg-gie at home. Every day it's harder to remember the sound of his voice... of his laugh..." he sniffled slightly. "And I miss having a m-m-mom. She hardly speaks or eats. She's like a shell of herself. I miss the mom who would encourage me and tell me she loves m-m-me every d-day."

Stan knew what Bill had meant. He had went to Bill less times than he could count on one hand and Mrs. Denbrough always had a lost, hopeless look in her eyes. Stan couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to have Andrea be remotely like that. 

Bill's breath started to hitch again as tears left his eyes. "To make it even worse, I f-f-f-f..." he drew in the best breath he could manage, "feel so f-fucking insecure. My entire life my d-dad has made the most repulsive claims about gay p-people!"

Panic very briefly flashed amongst Stan's features but it was gone just as soon as it came. He cupped Bill's face supportingly. He wondered if Bill was going to say it. 

"How is that s-suh-puh-posed to make m-me feel?"

Stan's mind was racing. Was that Bill's version of coming out to him? Was Bill coming out or upset that his dad didn't support the gay losers? Stan hadn't come out but he hadn't exactly seemed interested in dating a girl. Eddie wasn't out either but his pinky ring was a maybe not-so-hidden sign. 

"I b-broke up," he struggled to take a breath, "with B-Bev ',cause I liked a guy." 

"Oh Bill." Stan gently pushed the hair back from Bill's forehead. "It's okay. I know things suck, but you're not the only one, okay? It's okay to like other boys."

Bill opened his mouth to say something but Stan decided he may as well come clean. He thought that it would maybe help Bill feel better. "I'm gay."

Bill froze completely for a moment. His throat dried and he carefully sat up, once again above Stan. "You are?"

Stan nodded and folded his hands atop the pillow in his lap. "Yeah, I am."

Bill looked at Stan, his mind numb. He was so overstimulated by his thoughts that he almost felt nothing. He placed a hand on Stan's cheek, palm open and feeling the smooth skin. Stan looked curious and slightly flustered at the gesture despite doing it to Bill dozens of times. Then before Bill really absorbed how risky his next move was, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Stan's. 

Stan's eyes widened and he closed his eyes, lips seeming to melt against Bill's, but Bill pulled away so fast it made the bed rock and the floor squeak. 

Bill looked away and started to get up to go towards the door and get his shoes. "I'm s-s-sorry I shouldn't-"

Stan's arms snaked around Bill's waist and he pressed his cheek to Bill's back. "Don't go," Stan mumbled. 

Bill froze for a moment before sitting back down. His eyes were watering again, but this time with relief. For just a moment, he was petrified that Stan wouldn't reciprocate those feelings or even hate Bill for it. Yet the grip around his torso said otherwise. Bill turned around in his grip and tilted Stan's chin up to see a rather smug looking Stan. 

Bill opened his mouth to speak but Stan quickly shut him up by pressing their lips together. Bill melted into it much like Stan during their first kiss, and pushed Stan back onto the mattress. 

Stan smiled coyly at him. "Feeling better?"

Bill returned the smile but turned sincere. "Thank you... you're always there for me."

Stan looped his arms around Bill's neck. "And I will continue to be as long as you allow me." He gently pulled Bill down further. "Now," he began, "kiss me."


	2. Falling In Love Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie realizes just how much he cares for Eddie at 14. Eddie figures out at 16 that he cares for Richie.

###  Young Reddie 

**Warnings:** Language, Drugs, Minors Kissing (marking this just in case)  
**Word Count:** 2,349

* * *

Richard Wentworth Tozier had always been a jabbermouth. Before he could even talk, he laughed, or wailed, made tiny baby noises, and snored in his sleep. Not one moment in fourteen years had Richie shut up unless it was because of one tiny, fiery, barely five foot, hypochondriac, quick-witted, and shrill Eddie Kaspbrak. 

What they were doing was nomal; Richie had done something disgusting, this time being that he hadn't changed his underwear in three days "because it was summer" as he claimed and told Eddie. 

Eddie, who took two showers a day, was naturally abhorred by such knowledge. He took off ahead of Richie by a few yards on their walk to the club house. Unfortunately for the two boys with them, Stan and Bill, had to listen to Eddie and Richie bicker on the path between the trees. 

"You know, changing underwear every three days isn't that gross!"

"What the fuck do you mean 'not that gross'? That means you haven't showered in at least three days!" Eddie scrunched his nose and shook his head to himself while Richie attempted longer strides behind him to catch up. 

"Actually," Richie put a finger up in his own defense, "I showered last night!"

Eddie halted and turned around. "Then how are you wearing the same-?"

Richie grinned. "It's simple really, Eds. I just sniffed 'em to make sure they didn't smell before pulling them back on."

Eddie paled and he physically gagged. 

Stan face palmed as Richie stared on, realizing he had maybe talked a little too much. 

Bill was by Eddie's side and rubbing his back lightly. With Bill's prior experience as a big brother, he was trying to coerce Eddie into throwing up so he'd at least feel better afterward. 

Richie, rocking on his heels, decided to turn around. "I'll be back in twenty!"

The remaining three looked at him with confusion but resignation as well because who knew what Richie was planning or why?

So, they wandered around in the grass until Bill stumbled upon the entrance to the club house. He crawled down the ladder first and was relieved to see Bev, Ben, and Mike sitting on old, wooden crates with a radio idly playing in the background. 

Bev immediately came bouncing up to Bill and greeted him with a hug- after all they were dating for a few months by that point. 

Stan promptly took Bev's place before rolling his eyes at Bill's doting attention to Bev. 

Eddie, on the other hand, sat on the hammock before gently sliding his sneakers off, and grabbed a comic book from the box next to the thing. He opened up a comic that he didn't finish last time at the club house, unsurprisingly because of Richie, and began to slowly go through the pages. A couple of times he had to re-read panels due to his dyslexia. Part of him wished that Richie was there to narrate with his Voices so Eddie didn't have to bother with the eye strain and he got a one man show. 

He was slowly reading and catching up before a new weight rocketed into the hammock. Eddie startled and curled up by reflex as he screamed a shrill: "shit!"

Richie, whose hair was still dripping wet, a crooked smile, and laughing proudly, sat in the other end, limbs out. 

Eddie stared on curiously rather than upset. He noted how Richie's curls were already in motion and how the dampness of his sun-kissed, freckled arms shone. Richie smelled distinctly of laundry detergent that reminded him of those commercials with clothes gently blowing from a clothesline. He could also pick up the faintest scent of something he didn't remember Richie ever wearing: cologne. 

Richie took notice of Eddie's lingering stare and was uncertain of whether or not it was a good or bad stare. Richie felt his face heat up and tried to will it away, his mind flooding with things like 'don't look at him', 'don't let the other boys know', 'move your leg away from his'. 

Eddie, after his analyzing stare, broke into a small smile but rolled his eyes. "You look like a fucking wet dog."

Richie, unable to stop himself, stretched out, resting his legs across Eddie's and put his arms behind his head. He whistled and put on his Tourist Voice. "Oh honey I'm tuckered out. Let's just stay here forever."

Eddie didn't waste any time shoving Richie's legs off of him. "Get off of me asshole!"

Richie batted his eyes at Eddie. "Oh c'mon Eds! I'm all squeaky clean now!"

"Wow that's rare. Maybe we should throw a party to celebrate," Eddie deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. He shifted his comic and continued to read, but Richie weaseled his way up to Eddie's side. Eddie didn't react with much more than a slightly annoyed grunt. 

Richie settled in and adjusted his glasses before he quietly asked: "which panel are you on?"

Eddie pointed at it, a smile gently curling at his lips. 

Richie over-exaggerated clearing his throat and began to voice act the comic. 

At the end, Eddie tossed the comic book aside, clearly aggravated. "I can't believe readers voted to kill Robin!"

Richie shrugged. "I mean, the series is called A Death in the Family. What else didya expect?" He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

Eddie kicked Richie's leg slightly. "But it's so messed up!" He threw his arms up angrily. 

Richie, looking to rile Eddie up, smirked. "Well, I think Cat Woman is cooler than Robin would ever be."

"What the fuck kind of comparison is that? They're not even in the same level of hero work!"

"But she's cooler."

Eddie's face flushed with annoyance at the logical fallacy. His eyes went wide with frazzled emotions and he crossed his arms over his chest with a pout. 

Richie looked down at Eddie and felt his heart pound. It felt like Paul Bunyan statue was hitting him all over again. His throat dried as he looked down at Eddie. His mouth opened and he wanted so badly to say something meaningful- to tell Eddie what was on his mind- what had plagued his mind for nearly a year at that point. 

Yet what he did instead was squeeze Eddie's round lil cheeks and went: "cute, cute, cute!"

_____

Years had passed. The losers were all 17, about to head into their senior year. The August air was finally starting to cool just slightly. Days were long, warm, and sunny, but nights were short, cool, and crisp. 

Eddie was in his bedroom, shifting slightly in front of his mirror. He was wearing some shorts, but he knew it would get cold that night. So he discarded the shorts, which Richie had commented on earlier that day, and exchanged them for a pair of cuffed overalls. He stared in the mirror again. The red glint of his pinky ring matched the red of Richie's old t-shirt he wore. It was too long on him but it looked good with the light wash denim of the bibs.

He fussed with his hair lightly and looked at his hair gel. Any other day he would use it, but he took a deep breath and looked in the mirror again. He decided to let the light waves of his hair hang loose for the day. 

He stepped out of his bedroom before shoving his hand in his pocket. "Hey mom," he hesitated as he peered into the living room to see his mother on the couch with knitting needles between the thickness of her pinkish fingers. 

"Yes Eddie-Bear?"

Eddie took a deep breath. "I'm going to Bill's tonight." Well, that was a lie. Bill was gonna be at the event, but it wasn't at Bill's house. 

"Well come here and gimme a kiss before you go."

Eddie shuddered lightly before he walked over, stepping slowly and lightly as if he was walking on broken glass. He tried to get away with simply kissing her cheek but she turned her head and caught his lips. 

Eddie feigned a smile and thanked her, rushed a 'love you', and ran out the door. As soon as he was on the doorstep and the door was closed behind him, he rubbed his mouth on his arm to try and cleanse himself of the kiss. 

After he was satisfied enough, he looked down at his watch to see that Richie was running late. He rolled his eyes. "Of course he'd run late."

Yet as soon as Eddie looked back up, Richie's ancient truck pulled in. It was white and rusted, the front was littered with long-used air fresheners and the back was covered in bumper stickers that were absolutely abysmal. Eddie couldn't help but smile because the truck was just so Richie.

Eddie's eyes then flicked over to Richie, who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with two buttons undone and necklaces hung from his neck. 

Eddie felt his cheeks heat up just slightly. He waved to Richie before walking around the truck to the passenger side. He gripped the handle on the car roof to hoist himself up into the truck. He landed on the seat with a small 'oompf', earning a laugh from Richie.

Richie, with a big opened hand, ruffled Eddie's hair. "What's up Spagheddie?"

Eddie tried his best not to think about Richie's physicality. Eddie had come out as gay at 15 to the losers club. He sometimes felt like Richie targeted this with the way he smiled... the way he laughed and did silly gestures... to how he looked at Eddie. God, Eddie could throw a tantrum and scream over how Richie made him feel. 

Eddie quickly looked at the road. "Nothing. You ready for the party?"

Richie laughed. "Oh hell yeah! I brought some wacky tobaccy!"

Eddie couldn't help but chuckle but his nerves persisted. A few weeks back Richie and Eddie had an intense conversation at Richie's house. They had a genuine sit down about their feelings... how Richie was never joking when he called Eddie cute... how Richie had hated himself for such a long time because he was attracted to Eddie but didn't wanna ruin their friendship. 

Eddie admitted that he found Richie attractive both physically and his personality. 

Before they knew it, Eddie was on Richie's lap, Richie's hands on his waist as they kissed, but Eddie broke away and stood rather abruptly. "We can't be like this here. Derry isn't safe for us."

Richie agreed and they decided as long as they were in Derry they couldn't be together. 

Now that Eddie was sitting in Richie's car, he regretted that decision. But by the time he came out of his thoughts, they were at the farm. 

Eddie flung off his seatbelt and ran toward the bonfire before Richie had even turned off the truck engine. 

Richie leaned back in his seat with a sigh. God it fucking sucked to be that close to Eddie one night and then he had to go back to base one. He reached into the center console before pulling out a bag of three blunts. He grabbed the smallest of them all before lighting it. He took a long drag, but burst out coughing. "Fuck," he muttered. Even after smoking cigs and joints for years, he still sucked at breathing. 

He took a minute to inhale again before getting out of the truck and walking over to the bonfire. He walked by Bill, who reached up and pulled the blunt away from Richie.

Richie looked down to see Bill sitting on a chair with Stan between his legs. Richie chuckled. "You two should shot-gun it," Richie winked. 

Stan looked up smirking. "Why? So you can jerk off to it?"

"I mean, I have wanked to Bill," he laughed. 

Bill smacked Richie's arm with a chuckle and walked over to Bev, who was chatting with Mike. 

"Miss Marsh, may I have this dance?" He bowed slightly with a grin.

Bev hopped to her feet and winked. "Only if I lead."

"As always."

Eddie watched from the seat he sat curled up in. Ben sat next to him, watching Richie and Bev dance just as dejected as Eddie. The two were bonded in a sense of longing. 

Eddie turned to Ben. "If you weren't straight I'd definitely ask you to dance."

Ben chuckled. "Really? Making Richie jealous even though you rejected him?"

Eddie's face flushed. "I didn't reject him! I just... rain checked him!"

Eddie looked back to Richie and Bev to see that Bev had abandoned him and was instead strutting toward Eddie and Ben. Bev smiled sweetly at Eddie. "Mind if I snag your seat?"

Eddie hopped up. Just because he didn't have romance didn't mean he would ruin Ben's chance. He walked over to the spot next to Mike, but just as he was about to sit, a large hand gently wrapped around his wrist. 

Eddie looked back to see Richie sweetly smiling, the dim light of the fire almost making Richie's blue eyes glow. "May I have this dance?"

Eddie blushed and simply nodded. 

Richie pulled Eddie close and started to do their own version of the waltz. Eddie leaned his head against Richie's chest and could hear the nervous hammering of Richie's heart. He giggled and looked up at Richie. "No need to be nervous, Rich. It's just me."

To Eddie's surprise, Richie tipped him and made him squeal. Richie laughed and moved his face slightly closer to Eddie's. "That's the thing: it's you. You always make me feel this way." 

Eddie opened his mouth slightly but got caught in the intense blue eyes that peered down at him. Eddie, without thinking, wrapped his arms around Richie's neck and kissed him. 

Richie's eyes widened but he deepened the kiss, feeling like his body was meant to go with Eddie's. 

Eddie pulled away only for breath and looked up at Richie with wide eyes. "I can't wait anymore. I want to be with you."


	3. Books And Wine- Stenbrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has been on insane writing binge in order to finish his latest book, but it's left him somewhat insatiable for alone time with Stan. 
> 
> THIS IS NOT SMUT! It's essentially the lead-up. This was also to celebrate 250 followers, I think. I had a contest and this is what the winner requested!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is weeks before the return of It, so they're about 40, well of legal age.

**Word Count:** 2046   
**Warnings:** Sexual Implications, Minor Cursing, Alcohol 

* * *

Bill had been in his office for nearly 72 hours with the exception of bathroom breaks, one shower, and the occasional meal with Stan.

Stan would sometimes silently open the door and walk on the wooden floor without the noise of the boards beneath him and gently grab Bill's shoulders. He would give them a reassuring squeeze and massage them while Bill, whose gray streak had become even larger, would stare at his computer screen, head with a dull ache for looking at it for so long. 

Stan would hum. "Baby-love, you should really take a break. Or at least eat."

Bill would sigh. He slid off his glasses and placed them on the desk before swiveling his chair around only to pull Stan on his lap and wrap his arms around him. 

Even in their forties, just pulling Stan into a hug was enough to recharge Bill a bit and clear his head somewhat, but it was never able to snap Bill out of his _Writing Mode_. 

Bill nestled his head onto Stan's shoulder and in the process rubbed his stubble against Stan's neck. 

Stan hummed as his hand naturally fell to Bill's hair and began to play with it. "So, what would you like to snack on?"

Stan could feel the brush of Bill's stubble against his neck as he spoke. "Would saying 'you' be too cheesy?" Bill pulled his head back to look at Stan with a chuckle and leaned back in his seat. 

"I," Stan said, standing, "have some work to do. So not right now. Plus, I want you to actually eat. So, what do you want that isn't me?"

Bill sat up in his office chair to stretch. He groaned as his back popped in various spots before looking back at Stan. "I'd be fine with anything. You know I'm not picky."

Stan leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. "Don't tell me this is what I'll have to deal with every day when we have kids," he teased. 

Bill simply smiled. "You already deal with it every day."

Stan rolled his eyes but couldn't stop his smirk. "Get back to work. I'll be back with some real food for you soon."

With that, Bill watched Stan saunter out of the room. Bill ran a hand over his face. "Man, I'm whipped," he laughed to himself. 

He then spun his chair back to the computer and scooted back into the desk. 

He knew exactly where he was at. The climax had hit about three chapters ago and here he was trying to come to the end of the story. And this was where he struggled. He had struggled with endings his entire life. He knew his books were always shat on because he couldn't write a pleasing end no matter what he did. 

But Bill also enjoyed his gritty endings. He liked how none of them ended perfect because life wasn't perfect. Sure, he got a happy ending, but not everyone did. 

Bill ran a hand through his hair as eyes skimmed his desk. They paused on a photo from 1988. Framed on his desk was a picture of him at the age of thirteen, not too tall but his legs made up whatever height he had. On them were basketball shorts that now he looked at and cringed at just how short they were. With that was a baggy white t-shirt that he got on one of the hiking trips his family had gone on earlier that summer. Next to him was Georgie. 

He picked up the frame and looked at it. "You didn't get a happy end. Maybe that's why..." He felt the all too-normal sting of his eyes as they watered. He placed the frame back in its spot before pressing his fists against his eyes so hard he was seeing colorful patterns and spots. 

He looked back to the computer screen, read the last paragraph he had written, and began to type. 

* * *

It was about an hour and a half later that the door silently opened once again. Stan had gotten unexpectedly busy with a call from the school he worked for. He was a guidance counselor and with that he was one of the people that was always made immediately aware of legal troubles when students were involved. So he was dealing with making a contract with police about a kid on house arrest. It was this whole ordeal. 

And after that Stan had to make food for Bill. So, Stan simply made some guacamole and grabbed some chips before heading to Bill's study. 

He opened the door and peered inside. Almost instantly, Bill was on his feet, jumping, cheering, fist pumping, and yelling "YES!"

Stan carefully set the plate down as soon as he entered the room before walking over to Bill. 

Bill had spun on his heel and lifted Stan up into a hug before twirling the both of them in the center of the room. Stan burst out laughing and held on for dear life by wrapping his legs around Bill's waist and circling his arms around Bill's neck. 

Bill's eyes were wide, elated, practically glowing blue as he shoved his lips against Stan's. 

Stan closed his eyes, melting into it with a smile. 

When Bill pulled back for air, he rested his forehead against Stan's. "I did it! I finished!"

Stan smiled sweetly before pushing some stray strands of hair out of Bill's face. "Does this mean I get attention?"

Bill nodded and leaned forward to kiss Stan's neck. "Mhm," he hummed against Stan's skin. "I say we go out for a real expensive dinner, and after we come back here for dessert." 

Stan craned his neck, sighing at the feeling of Bill's lips on him. "Sounds lovely. Should we change and head out?"

With that, Bill placed a hand under Stan's ass so he could keep carrying the curly haired man and grabbed the plate of guacamole and chips on the way out. Maybe he would eat that before they left for the evening. After all, Stan did say he should eat. 

* * *

The two sat at a table covered in a thick cloth, a basket of fresh baked breadsticks, a nearly empty plate of eggplant parmesan, half a plate of stuffed shells, and an empty bottle of wine. 

Stan giggled, feeling the heat of the flush in his cheeks as his finger circled the rim of his wine glass. "I didn't realize we already drank it all." 

Bill grabbed his glass, the last bit in it swirling around in a miniature tart whirlpool. "I haven't drank this much in a long time."

The two burst out in giggles and Bill downed the rest with a little sigh afterward and reached for another breadstick. 

Stan teasingly smacked his hand. "Tsk tsk you still have food on your plate." 

Bill laughed before leaning across the table so his face was mere inches from Stan's. "Maybe I'm ready for dessert."

Stan turned toward the waitress who was walking toward them. "Boxes and check please."

She gave a thumbs up and Stan turned back to Bill and cupped his cheek. Stan's thumb rubbed against Bill's stubble. "You know, I wouldn't mind getting some beard burn tonight." Stan's eyes flickered from Bill's eyes to his lips before connecting their lips. 

Bill didn't hesitate tugging on Stan's bottom lip with his teeth. Bill may have been quite literally drunk, but tasting the wine on Stan's lip made him feel even more inebriated. 

Bill pulled away, knowing had needed to behave until they were home. 

Stan pouted slightly but the waitress came back with the bill and their take home boxes. Bill paid with cash so he wouldn't have to wait for his card to come back.

The two stood and Stan immediately tucked himself into Bill's side while he carried a box with their leftovers. Bill wrapped an arm around Stan and pulled out his phone to order a Lyft. The two stumbled on their feet, both much too drunk to walk home or drive. 

Alcohol is sometimes known as liquid courage and that had always been the case for Stan. Despite him not being the most physical person, alcohol always gave him that little boost of wanting his hands all over Bill. 

So, as they stood on the curb, Stan snaked his hand under Bill's shirt and flattened his hand against the subtle curvature of Bill's lower back. Bill hummed, taking in the coolness of Stan's hand. "Ooh are you giving me a back r-r-rub?" Bill teased. 

Stan simply craned his neck up slightly and barely pressed his lips to the spot on Bill's neck where it came together with his jaw. Bill sighed, though it shook slightly as Bill pulled Stan tighter into his side. 

Stan smirked knowingly. Bill was ready to pounce him at the start of the day. Teasing him like this while wine drunk was sure to make the night worthwhile. 

Bill closed his eyes. He took mental note, despite his drunken haze, that if he opened his mouth he would more than likely stutter. Even after so many years, being flustered brought back the ghost of his speech impediment. He was embarrassed about it tears ago, but Stan had affirmed that he enjoyed Bill's lack of vocal control. 

Yet the darkness of Bill's closed eyes brightened. He quirked an eye open and saw their Lyft driving up, headlights bright. Bill hummed and opened his other eye, stepping closer to the curb. Stan remained glued to Bill and leaned his head against Bill's neck. 

When the car came to a stop, the two filed into the back seat. The ride was quiet and peaceful, but there was a slight sense of lust as Stan looked up at Bill. As they turned the corner to their house, Stan leaned up slightly and whispered something into Bill's ear. 

"Should I get on my knees as soon as we're inside?"

Bill's eyes widened and he coughed quietly, trying to hold back any noises of surprise. He turned back to Stan and looked down at him. He gently took Stan's face in his hand. He leaned in close, smirking, and breathily mumbled, "and who s-said romance is dead?"

Stan chuckled and lightly swatted Bill's hand away. "I'll take that as a yes then."

The car rolled to a stop and Stan was surprisingly the first one out. He then swiveled back to Bill and grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the car. 

Bill stumbled with a laugh, the sound of his shoes tip tapping on the stone leading up to their front door. The two made it inside, though neither remembers which one of them fumbled with the keys to open it. 

Bill haphazardly tossed the leftovers in the fridge as he heard Stan tip toe his way up the stairs. 

Bill quickly followed, but his steps were thunderous compared to Stan's. As a result, Stan was well aware of the thuds in the hallway but for Bill's sake, he simply pretended he didn't hear them. Instead, he stood in the center of the room and slid off his blazer. Then, he methodically began to pop the buttons of his top open one by one.

Bill peeked through the doorway, already feeling himself get worked up, and stepped into the room. Stan smirked slightly, though avoided looking at Bill. Then the taller man crossed the room to Stan and stepped behind him, snaking his arms around Stan. 

Bill's hands took over undressing Stan and Stan hummed, delighted. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t bask in the attention whenever they shared an intimate moment. After all, Bill was focused on writing or directing or art fairly often. Having a chance to have Bill's focus purely on him was bliss. 

And then in a moment Bill turned both of them and Stan was laying back on the mattress, shirt in the middle of their bedroom floor. Bill wasted no time crawling over the blonde and kissed up his neck, making Stan stifle a sigh. 

Meanwhile, Bill's hands worked on Stan's belt. 

Stan closed his eyes with a coy grin. _Tonight will have been worth the wait._


End file.
